


Physician, Heal Thyself

by Mevennen (Altariel)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Mevennen
Summary: What Garak was up to during the events of 'Doctor Bashir, I Presume'.This story was written in the 90s by mevennen, and is being hosted, with permission, by Altariel.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	Physician, Heal Thyself

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written by mevennen, and is hosted, with permission, by Altariel.

**Physician, Heal Thyself**

...Unnatural deeds  
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds  
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.  
More needs she the divine than the physician...

( _Macbeth_ 5\. 1)

I suppose it was rather a novelty, being the subject of an interrogation. In the past, the places have usually been reversed but now I had been summoned here, to this bright, chilly room, to deliver information about a close friend. I would have to watch my step; consider each answer with care. The consequences could be critical.

'So,' my interrogator said, settling the padd on his knees. 'Your opinions, please.'

I blinked.

'About what, precisely?'

'Why, about the subject,' my interrogator said, surprised. 'What else would I wish to discuss with you?'

'Well, you never know. I've been privy to all sorts of information...'

My interrogator, I was pleased to see, struggled to control his patience. He said, primly: 'Now, I have a great many interviews to do so if we could get on...What were your initial impressions of the subject?'

I looked back into the past.

'He seemed a very intelligent, sensitive young man; perhaps a little insecure, for which he tended to over compensate.'

'Over compensate? In what way?'

'Perhaps he tended towards a confidence which he didn't really feel. A common enough trait, in the young.'

My interrogator looked vaguely perplexed; I imagine it was a trait with which he had little sympathy.

'And might I asked when your acquaintance with him started?'

'About five years ago, now.'

'I see.' My interrogator glanced up from his notes and frowned. 'A slightly unorthodox friendship, if I may say so.'

'Oh? In what way?'

If he caught the slight mimicry, he did not show it.

'Surely it's a little unusual for an ambitious young officer to befriend a - well, someone of such a different background and circumstances.'

'I was under the impression that his culture celebrated diversity?'

'Diversity, yes, but - I'm curious, Mr Garak. How exactly did you meet?'

'We found ourselves sitting at the same restaurant table. We got talking, discovered we had similar interests...the usual sort of thing.'

'What sort of interests?' His eyes narrowed.

'Literature.'

'How elevated,' he said. He seemed vaguely disappointed.

'Indeed.'

'And have you ever been a patient under his care?' He leaned forward in anticipation.

'Yes, once or twice. His bedside manner is impeccable. And there's no limit to the lengths he goes for his patients.'

'I'm pleased to hear it. Well, Mr Garak, I think I have all I need from you. Thank you for your time. Good day.'

'Thank _you_ , Doctor Zimmerman. If there's anything else you wish to know, don't hesitate to ask me.'

I hoped I had made a good impression. Bashir's success in this holographic medical project meant a great deal to me. I suppose any teacher wants a promising student to do well. Perhaps it was a little vain of me to take this approach, and there was of course rather more to it than that, but it seemed an interesting project. I did not precisely take a liking to the good doctor Zimmerman, but that was beside the point. Returning to the shop, I thought nothing more of the matter until later that evening, when I grew tired of my usual four walls and sought company in the Replimat.

* * *

Rather to my surprise, Bashir was sitting by himself, nursing a mug of tea.

'Good evening,' I greeted him.

'Oh, it's you. Hello,' he replied, without looking up.

'Well,' I said, seating myself opposite him. 'This is quite an accolade, isn't it? This holo project?'

'I suppose so.'

'Isn't Doctor Zimmerman celebrating with you?'

'He's over there.' Bashir glanced up at the gallery where Dr Zimmerman was taking a doubtless purely sociological interest in the local Bajoran culture. Perhaps this was the reason for Bashir's bleak mood, although I was under the impression that he had long since got over Leeta.

'So tell me,' I said. 'How is the project progressing?'

'Fine.'

Our conversation began to resemble the proverbial pastime of extracting blood from stones.

'You don't seem very happy about it.'

'Garak, it's been a long day and I'm very tired. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to bed,' he said abruptly, and left, leaving me to stare after him in bewilderment.

* * *

A day or so after that, I had the pleasure of seeing Commander Dax in the shop, wanting a skirt taken in. She seemed to be losing a good deal of weight lately; I imagine that Worf is an energetic companion.

'But I'm afraid that it won't be ready until tomorrow,' I told her. 'I'm dining with the doctor tonight and there are a few other things I have to do...' Dinner was not a fixed arrangement, but we'd mentioned it a week or so ago. Dax expressed surprise.

'Oh, so he's asked you to meet his parents?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'They arrived yesterday morning. Didn't you know? I had coffee with them earlier. Very nice people.'

'He didn't mention to me that they were coming,' I said. I must have sounded a little hurt, for Dax hastened to say, 'Oh, I'm sure he was planning to tell you, but they turned up unexpectedly and he's been so busy with this holo project...'

'Quite understandable,' I said, briskly, picking up the skirt. 'Well, leave it with me and I'll have it with you by tomorrow afternoon.'

If he did not want to involve me in his life, I thought, then that was his choice and I must abide by it. I remembered him then, sitting patiently and in silence while Tain lay dying and I opened the door to the past and let my friend look through. I had never regretted my decision to let him stay and hear the final act of the play that had been my old life. The way he spoke my name, when Tain had gone, was reward enough. Yet I could not blame him, after all that had happened between us, if he chose to shut me out of his own past.

* * *

I fully intended to steer clear of Bashir's quarters, despite a certain sense of curiosity. Fate, however, dictated otherwise. I ran into the Bashir clan outside the Replimat. The doctor mumbled a hasty greeting and avoided my eyes. So, he was ashamed of this 'unorthodox friendship,' then. I would not stay to embarrass us both; I had the rags of my pride. I turned to go, but Bashir's father was regarding me with undisguised interest.

'Who's this then, Jules?'

The doctor's voice was so low that I could barely hear him.

'This is Mr Garak; he's our tailor here on DS9. Garak, these are my parents: Richard and Amsha Bashir.'

'Oh', Amsha Bashir said, smiling. 'Perhaps I should think about a new wardrobe now that I'm here...'

'Mrs Bashir, I'm sure that won't be necessary; you look quite lovely already,' I told her, summoning gallantry. She smiled and blushed.

'A tailor, eh?' Richard Bashir said. 'And how do you find that? 

Lucrative, is it?'

'Father, I'm sure that Mr Garak's very busy,' the doctor mumbled, edging towards the entrance of the Replimat.

'Perhaps we'll have the chance to speak again,' I said, and made my escape.

I did not return to the shop. I went back to my quarters and sat wearily down on the edge of the couch. It seemed to me that if I kept very still; if I tried not to breath too deeply, I could keep the pain at bay. The dead can feel no longer, I thought, and wondered where that quote had come from. It seemed suddenly alluring. I was so preoccupied that it was a moment before I realised someone was at the door.

'Come in,' I said. Breaking the habit of a lifetime, I did not even look round.

'Garak?'

He was standing in the doorway.

'Why are you sitting in the dark?' he asked, with an effort at cheerfulness. 'I can hardly see you.'

Just as well, I thought.

'I was just dozing,' I said. I hoped my voice did not betray me.

'Garak - I came to apologise, for earlier on. It's a difficult situation and I-'

'It's all right, doctor. You don't need to explain. I'm well aware that I'm hardly the kind of connection one would wish to introduce to one's proud parents, after all.' I rubbed my temples; I had not meant to sound so bitter.

'What? What are you talking about?' he said. He sounded utterly bemused.

'You have plenty of bright young Starfleet friends to show off without an ageing enemy spy hanging around to lower the tone.'

He sat down beside me. I could sense his eyes upon me but I did not dare look up to meet them. Whatever the nature of one's courage, there is always a point at which it fails. I felt his hand come to rest on my shoulder; he was very close. He said:

'Not you. Never you, Garak. I'm ashamed of them - well, not my mother. Of Richard. Of my father.'

'Your father?' I said, baffled. Richard Bashir had seemed perfectly pleasant to me over the course of our brief encounter. 'Well, Tain was hardly the perfect parent, you know. You don't have a monopoly on trying relations.'

'You don't understand,' he said. He sounded beaten, defeated in a way that I could not comprehend. He reached out, tentatively and took my hand, and before I knew what I was doing I pulled him against me. He was right, I thought in despair. I would never understand humans. His father might give the impression of a second-hand vehicle salesman, but this hardly seemed to justify such an extreme reaction. Julian's proximity was having a disastrous effect on me, but I had the sense to realise that he was searching for comfort and not anything more. Dimly, I realised that he was shaking. We sat like this for some time, and then he drew back and leaned against the couch.

'Tell me,' I said softly, prompted by the interrogator's instinct. You can always tell when a subject is withholding information. So he told me, all of it: the remedial child, and the ambitious, unscrupulous father; the illegal genetic enhancement; discovery and the resentment growing with the achievements down the years until he had fled here, to the edge of space, to escape and atone for an imaginary sin. I said nothing, only listened.

'I can't tell anyone else,' he said, simply. 'Miles, Jadzia - they're all Starfleet, you see. They'd be under an obligation, and it's not fair to force someone into that sort of dilemma. They'd have to go to the authorities. Quite rightly, too...I deserve everything I get.'

'I don't see why.'

'Don't you? I'm unnatural, Garak. I'm a fraud.'

Humans are strange creatures, I reflected. So much shame, such self contempt, over some trivial modification.

'If you had a patient who had been in an accident,' I surmised 'and who had lost the use of their limbs - someone who was paralysed, say. Wouldn't you try to help them? Repair them?'

'Sentient beings are not, by definition, machines. Who sets the standard as to what is acceptable, and what is defective?'

'I agree, any such criterion would be subjective and, to a degree, arbitrary. If it's set at all, it's established by the context. Do you advocate nature or nurture, doctor? What is it that makes the self?'

'They didn't give me a chance. The person who I was then died on the operating table,' He gave a humourless smile. 'Ironic, isn't it? All my talents, all my accomplishments, all of it's based on a lie. Like my father, after all.'

*Like me*, I thought with a pang of guilt. The thought that this was the basis of his interest in me was indeed too ironic to contemplate.

'You must think I'm despicable,' he said. 'Well, at least we've confirmed one hypothesis: self righteousness always has something to hide.' He glanced at me. 'Do you despise me, Garak? Now that I'm no longer the person you thought I was?'

I hardly liked to say that it only added to his charm. Instead, I said, 'All identity, doctor, is contingent, and based on largely random factors: environment, upbringing, education. I could say the same of Tain; he created me, made me, as much as your father ever did. Only the modus operandi differed.'

'Sophistry,' he said. Clearly, he was in no mood to listen to reason.

'Maybe so, but the point is this: we have come a very long way from nature and it is no longer possible to say, and perhaps never has been possible, to define what is natural and what is not. In a sense, the very category of the natural is socially defined, a product of the culture which generates it. We do not live natural lives - look at your own life, look at mine. The rules that are set on practices such as genetic enhancement are pragmatic stipulations; they are not dictated by metaphysics, or ethics. It's forbidden not because it's unnatural, but because it results in social disorder. I think your father's actions are justified - legally unwise, perhaps, but understandable. If you were my son, I'd probably have contemplated a similar course of action. Such children in Cardassia are modified as a matter of course, or killed if they are too far beyond hope, were you aware of that? The gene pool is regarded as too precious to risk; much of our society is founded on eugenics. Anyway, that anthropological insight aside, the main issue is that you're now in a somewhat invidious position and I think you must act on the assumption that secrets will come out: they tend to do so.'

Bashir was staring at me. He glanced down, and flushed; I realised that our hands were still linked.

'Oh God, Garak, I'm sorry,' he said, embarrassed.

'Don't be,' I whispered, and before I could stop myself I leaned towards him and raised his chin so that our eyes met. I don't know what he saw; his dark gaze seemed to fill the world. I was close enough to kiss him. Then the doorbell rang. Bashir and I sprang apart like a couple of gazelles.

'What?' I snapped. The door opened to reveal a small, nervous figure. I think my jaw may literally have dropped.

'Can - can I talk to you?' Rom said.

'No, you may not!'

'It's all right,' Bashir said, hastily. 'I was just leaving. Garak, I'll call you in the morning. And thank you,' he added, just before he walked through the door.

Once more I found myself dispensing advice, this time to the lovelorn Rom. I was beginning to wonder whether I should charge consultancy fees. I suppose that it was a measure of his desperation that he should have approached me; he had given me a wide berth after my demonstration of assassination techniques to his brother. When he had gone, I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. Pain, and relief, and unsatisfied desire had all taken their toll; I was exhausted. When I awoke, it was morning and, unbeknownst to me, Bashir's secret had already flown.

* * *

I learned this from Dax, whom I ran into in the corridor not far from Bashir's quarters.

'Garak! I've been looking for you,' she said.

'Your skirt. It's not ready yet, I'm afraid.'

'I don't care if you've embroidered it with the Cardassian national anthem and are flying it from pylon three,' she snapped. 'Did you know about this? About Julian?'

I paused for the reflexive lie, then said: 'Yes. He told me last night; he came to see me.'

'Zimmerman's found out.'

I'm sure it was against Starfleet regulations to submit all this information voluntarily to a known spy, but I was disinclined to argue the point.

'He's taking the matter directly to the medical council. Sisko's trying to intervene at Admiralty level.'

'How important is Zimmerman's report?'

Dax considered.

'The medical council has a certain degree of autonomy from the rest of Starfleet: medics are a law unto themselves. If they decide to make an example of him -'

'Very well. Where's Zimmerman now?'

'Down in the holodeck. What are you up to, Garak?'

'I merely wished say good-bye. He has been a most stimulating presence on this station,' I said, and left her standing in the corridor.

* * *

Zimmerman was nowhere to be found. Instead, Bashir sat glumly in the centre of the room. I put my hand on his shoulder.

'Don't worry,' I said. 'We'll see what can be done.'

'Please state the nature of the medical emergency,' said the doctor. For a fleeting second I thought that the strain had been too much and he

actually had taken leave of his senses; then I realised that this must be the hologram.

'No emergency, my dear doctor,' I said, comfortingly. 'Now tell me. Where's Zimmerman?'

'Dr Zimmerman is otherwise engaged.'

'Oh good.'

Going across to the programming console, I made a cursory inspection. So far, so good. One holoprogram is very much like another; the technology is of necessity fairly standard. I opened the front of the console and began some artistic rearrangement.

'Reprogramming of the subsidiary protocols is not permitted -' the doctor's alter ego began.

'Isn't it? Oh, then I do apologise,' I told it, and severed a wire.

From the corner of my eye I saw him shiver into the air like a ghost.

After a few small but vital improvements, a few encoded embellishments, I decided that it was time to conjure him back. He stood impassively in the middle of the room, gazing at me. The likeness was perfect. I felt my heart contract. For a brief, involuntary moment, I wondered whether it might be possible to obtain a copy of the program, but dismissed this as being beneath even me. I stalked behind my friend's doppelganger and murmured into his ear. After a startled pause he, like Bashir on the previous evening, proceeded to tell me everything he knew.

* * *

When Zimmerman returned, I was standing idly by the console, admiring the specifications. I can't say that he appeared precisely delighted to see me.

'Oh, it's you,' he said.

'I wonder if I might have a word,' I asked him. I could feel the words like silk in my mouth.

'It's hardly the most convenient moment - oh, very well. If you must.'

'It's about Doctor Bashir.'

Zimmerman gave a rather theatrical sigh.

'You can be assured that I am well aware that Doctor Bashir is (a) a very dedicated and talented young man, that (b) he is more sinned against than sinning, and (c) if I inform the authorities I will be blighting not only a promising career but also depriving Starfleet of one of its more useful officers. Chief O'Brien, Commander Sisko and Dax have all seen fit to inform me of this, at various stages throughout the morning.'

'Then am I to understand that you'll consider very carefully the recommendations that you submit to the medical council?'

'I would have done so in any case; however, I've no intention of being browbeaten by the admiralty. Functionally, if not theoretically, the medical arm is an autonomous part of Starfleet and it is there that my allegiances lie.'

He bestowed a benevolent smile upon me. Clearly he felt that he had done me a favour by deigning to explain himself. I remembered what Bashir, wiser than his elder, had said: self-righteous always has something to hide. I said: 'I understand completely and your integrity does you credit. It does seem a pity, however. Such a promising young man, as you say. Of course, he should have confessed at the start of his training, and then a way could be found around the problem. But there we are. It's easy for the young to make mistakes, especially if they feel passionately about something. Don't you agree?'

I could not be sure if I detected a slight unease behind his eyes. 

I continued: 'After all, once a secret is out in the open, it becomes easier to remedy any unfortunate consequences. It becomes possible to give someone a second chance. And as you've implied, it wasn't as though Doctor Bashir actually committed any personal transgressions...No unwise financial commitments, or sexual misdemeanours...'

In the Obsidian Order, we were trained to read the language of the body. Zimmerman had become very still.

'But then, life is a harsh mistress, sometimes. Thank you for your patience,' I said, for they also taught me to know when a subject has broken. It doesn't necessarily take very long, if one has the right sort of information. I left him there, staring at his creation; his betrayer.

* * *

'So apparently Doctor Zimmerman has explained to the Admiral that there are mitigating circumstances, and it was as a result of his intervention that Starfleet let me off the hook,' Bashir said, when it was all over. His parents had departed for home and prison; Zimmerman had gone back to Jupiter Station.

'That's good news,' I said. He was looking at me, narrowly.

'What did you do?'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

He reached out and in full view of everyone, curled his fingers around my hand, so tightly that it hurt.

'Dax said that you went to see Zimmerman. What did you say to him?'

'I merely wished to provide some balance to the situation. You see, Zimmerman's an arrogant man, and such people can be reckless. And reckless people always have secrets. Having decided that he had secrets, it only remained to find them.' I paused. 'Doctor Zimmerman is a very bright man but his social skills leave something to be desired. Particularly, it seemed to me, where women are concerned.'

'And?'

'Put the two together, and you have the beginnings of a suspicion.'

'Are you telling me that Zimmerman - what? Got himself in trouble at some point?'

'It was a sexual harassment case, very early in his career. It was settled out of court, but there were elements of doubt. It doesn't show up on his official record, but it happened, no doubt about it.'

'Well, how did you find this out?'

'You told me.'

'What?' said the doctor.

'Or your hologram did. You see, Zimmerman had downloaded the original holographic doctor with all the salient details of his career, so your alter ego possessed significant amounts of information about him, including the protocols for entrance into his personal logs. It's all there; the case, the outcome, Zimmerman's thoughts on the matter - which were somewhat revealing. I imagine he refines his simulations later on, to edit anything incriminating or personal, but in these preliminary stages the hologram needs access to the logs so that the development of its personality can continue apace. Since Zimmerman was starting out with his persona, with your own still in the development stages, the relevant information was still there. Having confirmed my hypothesis, I approached Zimmerman.'

'Garak,' he said, reprovingly. 'You are a very devious man.'

'Thank you. It's nice to be appreciated,' I replied.

He was staring at me again. He said:

'Garak -' then paused.

'Yes, doctor?'

'Last night, just before Rom interrupted us, did you - I mean, were you going to say something to me?'

I have said that the Obsidian Order teaches its students to read the language of the body, but he was a closed book to me then. Besides, the moment had passed. I said dismissively:

'I don't remember.'

'Don't you?'

'No, doctor, I don't think I do. It can't have been anything very important,' I said, but then, because I could not resist giving him the clue he needed to pursue, I added: 'Would I lie to you?' and waited for his smile.


End file.
